


Wild Thing

by WeAllFlyHigh



Series: NA Brothers [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Colonial America (Hetalia), Colonial Canada (Hetalia), FACE Family, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26047027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAllFlyHigh/pseuds/WeAllFlyHigh
Summary: There's a beast sleeping between America and Canada.Most nations have cute little bird companions, or loyal dogs. Canada does not.
Series: NA Brothers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806364
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	Wild Thing

It might be foolish, it was definitely overly sentimental, but so much of what he did now-a-days was. He had never expected this to be a consequence of starting his own empire. He couldn’t stop thinking of when he was young. He had worked so hard and come so far but maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t bear the thought of his little colony reliving his past struggles.

From the moment he had laid eyes on America’s personification, something had wrapped itself around his heart. He was so impossibly small. England knew logically that he himself had to have been that small once, it just didn’t feel like the truth. He wanted his colony to flourish and not just for the glory of his empire. He wanted America to be happy and healthy. He wanted to give his colony everything he could.

A relationship with his brother was simultaneously one of the easiest and most difficult things he could provide and the sound of the boys mingling giggles as they played made it all worth it.

England leaned his head back against the wall as he listened to the boys. Their little feet padded across the floor of America’s bedroom. He closed his eyes and pictured them crawling into America’s bed. Their heads leaning towards each other as they whispered different prayers in a chorus.

He couldn’t remember a time his own siblings had been so close. He didn’t even know if it had ever been. England returned to his study with heavy thoughts. He fed the fire and settled into a nearby chair. America was usually the one to curl up in it while England sat behind his desk. The colony was still small enough that he could tuck his feet up and still have room to safely squirm every few minutes.

There were papers waiting on his desk. He could see them from where he sat. He refused to acknowledge them. Tonight was reserved for the boys. They might try to sneak out of bed or need a glass of water or, heaven forbid, one of them might have a nightmare. He would love to hold one of them in his arms and whisper lullabies long forgotten into their hair.

They did not come to him. France did.

England rushed to silence the pounding on his door. As soon as he opened it, fully prepared to launch admonishments at whoever had dared to interrupt his night, a boney hand flew towards his face. He dodged the fist and failed to stop the body that followed him inside.

The frog looked like he had fallen into a river. Drying mud was smeared across his forehead and greenery was tangled into his hair. Not that he gave England a moment to mock him for it. As soon as he was confident England couldn’t easily throw him out France began to shout. “Kidnapper!”

“Shut up,” England hissed.

“I will not. You took my sweet little Canada away. You foul, deplorable brute.” Each insult was punctuated with a jab of France’s finger.

England grabbed his finger and attempted to twist it back on itself. “I did not take him.”

France growled, wrenched himself away from England, and drew himself up into his customary I’m-better-than-you pose. “I know it was you. No one else would have the gull to. Give him back or I’ll return with my men to make you.”

“Oh, will you now?” England’s smile was more a baring of teeth than a grin. “Please. I don’t know what’s more preposterous, that you think you can take him back or that you think I took him.”

“You deny that he is here?”

“Oh, he’s here. But I didn’t take him. He came quiet willingly.” France’s face turned several unappealing colors and went through several ugly twists of outrage. England would have to have painting of them commissioned as soon as possible.

“Where is he?”

“Oh, he went to market. We were running terribly low on butter.” England rolled his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. He’s in bed where else would he be?”

England crashed into the wall as France pushed him aside as he took off towards the bedrooms. He quickly followed pulling at France’s shirt. He was repeatedly shoved him off, France did not even pause when his seams ripped. Their fight quieted as they reached America’s door.

England twisted the doorknob but did not open the door. Instead he glared at the hand France put on the door to push it open. His other hand seized France’s. He dug his nails into the skin of his wrist. He hoped he drew blood.

France bared his teeth in a snarl that quickly disappeared as England eased the door open. He only opened it far enough for a crack to form. He could not risk light sneaking in and stealing either boy away from sleep. The two nations pressed their faces close together to peer inside. Their distaste for each other put aside so that the other could not claim the first glimpse of the colonies.

The boys were oblivious to all of this. It was impossible to tell one boy from the other in the dark. They lay curled together. Their arms stretched across a lump beneath the sheets between them. Their hands rested on top of it. Their little fingers were entwinned.

“Adorable,” France whispered. 

England felt his chest swell with tender love. In this one thing, both nations could readily agree. Not because they could put aside their pride and grudges but because it was indisputably true. “Of course.”

“My sweet Canada is simply too much for words. No doubt a result of my influence.”

England shuts the door to muffle their words. “More like in spite of your influence.”

“I believe you are thinking of little America. It is obvious you have no idea what you are doing with him.”

“Oh, like you’re doing any better.”

“I treat my precious colony like the angel he is,” France said filled with smugness.

England responded with words filled with acid. “And can I suppose that part of your treating him like an angel includes giving him a demon for a toy?”

France scrunched his noes like he smelled something foul. “England, you’re even more incomprehensible than usual. What are you talking about?”

“That freakish toy he’s carrying around. It’s probably with them even now. Did you go hunting and bring him back a bearskin? Do you really have so little thought for him that you can’t be bothered to bring him something from the continent or at least commission something in a port?”

“Did you say bear?”

England ignored the way France’s voice abruptly lost his usual arrogance. He wasn’t aware that France valued his taxidermy skills so much. He’ll have to remember to target that vulnerability again. “Can’t you hear now or are you too ashamed to own up to your actions?”

France latched onto his shoulder with a strength that promised bruises. “England, stop being such an uncouth idiot. Did you say bear?”

England shot him a glare and blinked. There was something off about France’s expression. He was pale and tense. His knuckles and lips were drawn tight and pale. Although he had never seen this expression on France he recognized it. He’d seen it on many desperate army commanders overlooking a battlefield and realizing that they were well and truly fucked. “Yes. What of it?”

France’s reply was thin, high, and as quiet as he could make it. “I didn’t give him a bear…” France swallowed thickly. “But he has been rather insistent lately that he wants to take in every creature he comes across.”

“Are you suggesting?” A chill ran down England’s spine. His mouth went dry. He opened the door farther than before. They peered back in. A candle was slowly, carefully moved into the bedroom now that there are more important things than worrying if the boys awoke. 

The candlelight didn’t reach far into the room. The small forms of America and Canada still lay facing each other, utterly oblivious to their guardians rising alarm. It was still too dark to tell which is which. Although now you could see the faint gleam of their golden hair. Their hands were still entwined. Their arms were still outstretched over a third form. Another pair of eyes reflected the light back at them.

England’s heart stopped.

He’d hunted bear before; he’d seen what they can do. It had given him nightmares. Bears were truly man eaters. He’d never seen what a cub could do, but that was due to him always promptly deserting the area whenever a cub was found. Their mothers were never merciful and always bloodthirsty.

“Oh god. It’s going to eat them.”

“Calm down it’s only a baby.” England tried to feel a bit of calm himself and failed to even remember what the emotion felt like. 

France’s pupils were wide and dark with all their color and all his calm swallowed up by fear. “It’s still a bear.”

”Yes, but, surely it can’t do as much damage as an adult.”

France’s nails dug into England’s skin. “Does that matter? It can still maim them.”

There was a shift from the bed. The nations went still as they focused back on their colonies. The bear cub yawned and shifted impossibly closer to the boys. The sheets whispered with its every moment. One of the boys sighed peacefully.

“We could,” England mimed reaching out between the boys.

France frantically shook his head. “We cannot chance it.”

“What do you suggest?”

France began to gnaw on his previously perfect nails. “Maybe a gun…”

“Are you insane?”

“We can’t just leave it until morning,” France began. 

“I know that. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Why am I the one that has to come up with a solution?”

“He’s your colony. You should have an idea about what to do.”

“My idea was to not let him get a bear.” France said with a snarl, the quietest please-god-I-beg-you-don’t-let-them-wake-up snarl possible.

England scoffed, also quietly. “Well, he already had it when I arrived.”

Canada had been holding it all day tucked close to his chest like it was a babe. He had never suspected that it had been alive. America had never even made mention of it and the boy normally never shut up about every bug or interesting rock he came across. Although America had been oddly insistent that he should be allowed to play with it. He’d assumed the boy was merely playing.

Dear god, he was just playing. They thought this beast was no different than a rabbit they had found in a field. They had no sense of self preservation. How could he ever let the boys out of his sight again. Maybe he should get a nursemaid or governess. No, they needed a rotating battalion or armed guards.

The nations eyed the bear closely. France gnawed on his lip and England’s fingers twitched in his anxiety. “We should wait. If one of the boys moves, then we will take it out.”

France reluctantly agreed. It is not the prefect solution, but it was the only one they have.

They leaned against the wall, crouched low and ready. They could see the bear and the bear could see them. Only one of them seemed not to care. Every time the bear moved, they tensed and leaned forward prepared to launch themselves across the room. Their legs burned. Their chests were so tight they could barely breath around their worry.

The bear snuggled into the bed. It buried its face under one of the boy’s chins.

England woke with a crick in his neck and an aching back. He was by no means comfortable but still reluctant to wake up. He could hear pans clank together and the chime of silverware on dishes. America must be attempting to make breakfast again. It would no doubt result in a mess spread across his kitchen and burnt toast. Canada seemed more focused in his early cooking attempts. Perhaps he will…

England gasped and shot up. France’s head fell off his shoulder and hit the wall behind him. The noise he made was half gurgle and half scream. He would have taken some small pleasure from that if horror was not rushing through his body.

He flew down his halls. The first glimpse of red on his kitchen walls froze him. Blood, it must be blood. He was too late. The boys must have struggled. But the beast…Oh heavens he couldn’t even bring himself to imagine.

“Morning,” America chirped. England tore his gaze from the red stains and looked further into the kitchen.

America had already turned away. His mouth was covered in red and crumbs. Toast, he dimly realized. The thick red jam had found its way not only across the floor but up onto the walls as well. There was a collection of pans scattered in front of the hearth and on his table.

Canada was seated calmly two chairs away from his brother. A soft smile was on his red stained lips. Between them was the bear. Canada gently wiped smears of egg yolk from the bears jaws with a hand towel. America giggled and handed his brother another thick slice of jam covered toast. Canada absently took a bite, letting the whole thing dangle out of his mouth.

The carefully embroidered blue flowers on the towel mock him.

The bear moved closer to Canada and huffed as it tried to take the bread from Canada. America giggled in delight.

England could not look away. The ice around his heart cracked and a heavy weight slid down into his stomach. This is it, the rest of his life is going to be spent slowly being driven insane while he desperately tries prevent his colonies from getting themselves killed. He needed to talk to his governor about putting some men into his direct service.

A set of hurried footsteps skid to a stop behind him. France chocked on his breath. “We are never getting rid of that thing,” he hissed despondently into his ear.

When the colonies looked away from their treasured beast and up at their guardians, the nations tried very, very hard to smile back at them.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: A battalion is described by google as a group of armed military men consisting of between 300 and 1000 men.   
> So England freaked out a bit there.


End file.
